


Store Bought Bones

by dvs



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes is a resilient badass, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sam is more awesome than you realise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 23:49:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3430103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvs/pseuds/dvs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is supposed to be unbreakable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Store Bought Bones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soracia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soracia/gifts).



For a moment, it felt as if Sam had gone into a spin, before realising he was actually running, sweat dripping into his eyes, his breath heavy and loud in his ears. The air smelled of dust and burning and his lungs were beginning to ache, his skin stinging from the heat. He swallowed, looking up as the sky began to vibrate like the metal roof of a barn about to collapse. The sound warbled through his skull until he made sense of the chopper blades spinning in the air, sounding as if even the air had begin to melt and thicken.

“He's going to be okay!” someone shouted to Sam over the noise. He looked at the figure, momentarily unable to focus. Sam frowned and quietly said, “What?”

“He's going to be okay.”

A hand touched his arm, the pressure of it swooping Sam out of his head and into the present. Sam stared at the woman before him, a curvy brunette nurse with hair tidily contained in a short ponytail, wearing the barest shimmer of gloss on her mouth, kind almond shaped brown eyes discreetly lined with black. He frowned at her, trapped in time for a second. She looked like someone, another face from years ago, with that same cautious expression.

Sam blinked the present firmly back into place, concentrating on that unique hospital smell that unnerved even the healthy. He turned to look through the window of the private room where Steve was lying in bed, his eyes half-slitted as he still managed a steely glare for the pair of suits questioning him, Tony standing by his bed and rolling his eyes.

Sam's gaze shifted from Tony and Steve to the nurse who looked extremely sympathetic and understanding. “He's Captain America. He's always okay.”

She looked at Sam, a ripple of curiosity disturbing her otherwise tranquil gaze. “Well, I wouldn't blame you for worrying. I think anyone who saw that crappy cell-phone footage on the news was thinking the same thing.”

“That he's a stubborn ass who needs to learn the meaning of 'wait for back up'?” Sam muttered, glancing back to see Tony's mouth running off again. When he looked at the nurse she was frowning, her mouth twitching up a little at the corner. “I mean, he made it. Hallelujah. Right?”

The nurse smiled brightly, squeezing Sam's arm before leaving. He watched her walk away, his mind uselessly flapping its wings, trying to thrash its way out of the storm of old memories. There had been another nurse, only that time Sam had been lying in a hospital bed, drifting between dream and reality. He had slurred out a question. He couldn't remember her answer, but she had smiled sadly at him, before she put her hand on his forearm and squeezed it. Sam couldn't remember the next part, but something inside him said it was a blessing.

“Yeah, thanks for the visit,” Tony said as he opened the door to Steve's room, walking out behind the suits. “And you're welcome. Might want to donate that Christmas bonus to charity seeing as we pretty much did your job. Do you even get a bonus?”

The suits marched away, ignoring Tony, not that it stopped him from walking out after them, continuing with his catcalls of criticism. When they were out of earshot, he swiftly turned and pointed at Sam. Sam eyed the finger, arching his brow at Tony. Tony frowned at his own finger and then pointed it up, looking too tired to be annoying for the sake of being annoying.

“Doctor says Steve can go home, but someone should keep an eye on him, so I'm thinking we'll jet over to the tower, I'll have a room made up, some embarrassing pyjamas, take a few pictures-”

“Hold up,” Sam said. “Steve's okay with this?”

“He had a building explode into a fiery ball and collapse on his head. I'm making an executive decision here,” Tony said.

“He's not going to like it, I can tell you right now,” Sam said.

“Well, get in there and convince him I'm right. He listens to you,” Tony said with the nonplussed look of a man who had spent his entire life getting everything he wanted. “You seen his neighbourhood? In his current state he can't even shake a walking stick at the local punks. Talk to him. You know I'm right.”

Sam held his hands up in surrender. “I'll see what I can do. I'm not promising anything. The guy's as stubborn as they come.”

Tony made a clicking sound with his mouth, pointing at Sam. “I'll make arrangements, you tell me when he's good to go. Though, I recommend you just lie to him because he's being a real cranky son of a bitch today.”

“Being buried alive in a burning warehouse can do that.”

Tony looked into the room and shrugged. “Sure. But if anyone's used to it by now.”

“Really, man?” Sam asked, shaking his head.

Tony reached into the pocket of his black suit jacket, pulling out his phone, dialling and turning to leave, calling back, “It's been that kind of day. Call me when you're ready.”

“Sure,” Sam said, half way into Steve's room. He watched Steve sitting up, moving his body slowly as he manoeuvred his legs over the side of the bed. Sam grimaced and opened his mouth to speak. Steve cut him off by flatly informing him, “I broke my hand, not my ears.”  
  
“Not sure you can actually break your ears,” Sam muttered as he shut the door. “So, what do you say? Feel like hanging with Tony for a few days?”

Steve arched a brow at Sam, managing a rather pointed look despite the dangerous amount of painkillers that were burning away in his blood stream before they could do anything other than make him cranky. “I say the same thing you said months ago with one bullet stuck in your shoulder and a shirt that fit real funny.”

Sam tilted his head, looking off into the corner of the room as he tried to recall the exact words, something about preferring bullets to bedpans. Looking back at Steve, he responded, “I'll get your pants.”

Closing the blinds, Sam grabbed the clothes he had brought from Steve's place and helped him into sweats, t-shirt, and hoodie. It was an excruciatingly slow process. A lift of the left arm made Steve flinch and grimace, cracked ribs bandaged tight. Lifting the right arm out of its sling made Steve grunt in pain, his shattered hand encased in a cast. He wobbled when he stood up on bruised legs, eyes going a little unfocused, looking too bright and blue against the purpling around his left eye, and the angry red cuts on his right cheek. Sam looked away from the injuries and put an arm firmly around Steve's waist, keeping him steady. Steve squeezed Sam's wrist and nodded. Sam tried not to grimace as he helped Steve sit back on the bed, gladly turning his gaze away to look for Steve's shoes, going straight back to Steve's feet.

Steve's quietness only really struck Sam as he tied the laces of the second sneaker. He frowned and looked up to find Steve watching him, rapt with attention. Sam slowly stood up, putting a careful hand on around the curve of Steve's shoulder. “Doing okay there?”

“Thank you,” Steve said, his voice sounding rusty and raw. He nodded in the general direction of himself. “All this.”

“You don't have to thank me. Turn up at my niece’s birthday party in uniform and we'll call it quits. Hell, turn up to _my_ birthday in uniform and we'll call it quits.” Despite his eyes looking glassy with exhaustion, and a slight slump to his frame, Steve smiled, genuine and bright. Sam patted him lightly on the shoulder. “Let's go before Tony gets back.”

It was slow moving, but Sam finally got Steve into the passenger seat of his car, his muscles painfully stiff as he pushed down the urge to reach over and help with Steve's seatbelt. Steve being Steve struggled longer than anyone else would have, but eventually clipped it in himself, even if it left him pink-faced and tired. Sam would have been annoyed if it wasn't for the fact that there was a ball of pain under his left shoulder blade, twisting upwards into his neck, his muscles stiffening with every second. He couldn't judge Steve, not when they were both idiots.

They drove in silence for a while, Steve lost in his own thoughts, so far inside his own head that it made Sam wish he could go in there and lift him out of the debris of his unhappiness. Instead, he softened the silence by putting on the radio, not too quiet to be unnoticeable, and not too loud to be intrusive. Hopefully just enough to fracture Steve's too focused concentration. Minutes later, Steve tipped his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes, some tension leaving his body. Sam let himself smile, enjoying the ride until Steve surfaced some time later.

“This isn't the way to my apartment.”

“We're not going to your apartment, we're going to mine,” Sam said.

“Sam, I appreciate what you're doing, but you don't have to play nursemaid,” Steve said.

“I'm not playing nursemaid. I'm keeping you in my sights until you can stand up without looking like the Leaning Tower of Pisa,” Sam countered, more than fully prepared for Steve's objections.

“What's wrong with my place?” Steve asked with a frown that made him look both confused and offended.

“Your place is cold,” Sam said. Steve opened his mouth to object. “I am not doing this with you, man. I told you before, it's cold. Not my fault you're a walking furnace.”

Steve was quiet for a long time, long enough to make Sam take his eyes off the road for a second to check whether Steve was pissed off or passed out. His short glance at the passenger side revealed Steve quietly staring at him, mouth pursed with amusement.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Nothing,” Steve answered, mouth teasingly hinting at a smile. “I just didn't realise you were such a delicate flower.”

“I will turn this car around,” Sam warned. “Before you know it, you'll be wearing Iron Man pyjamas and seriously reconsidering your life choices.”

Steve laughed, though it was short-lived and cut off by a pained wince. “It's like that, huh?”

Maybe it was Steve's tone, or maybe it was just the bruises Sam didn't want to see on Steve's face, Sam kept his eyes on the road ahead, ignoring a fluttery feeling inside his chest, like dark feathers of anxiety floating in too much space, unanchored and threatening to be swept away.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It is.”

Steve made a quiet amused sound in his throat, whilst Sam kept his eyes on the road ahead.

# *

Ushering Steve into the house, Sam found it hard to remember the last time he had to take care of anyone. What came to mind instead was the time after Riley, Sam's sister a quiet presence in the house, cooking and cleaning to keep busy, to pour noise into the silence Sam had created. He remembered being hard to care for, angry and closed off until his brother, too much like his father, had easily coaxed the grief out of him, draining the wound that had been turning his heart septic. It seemed a lifetime ago now, like something that had happened to someone else.

Sam tried not to think of it as Steve made his way up the stairs, Sam close behind, arm snaking around Steve's waist as soon as they stepped on the landing, holding on all the way into the bedroom. Steve was quiet, strain showing on the grimace he was failing to hold back. He was too good at this, the silent suffering. No one, Sam thought, should be good at suffering in silence, his mind flashing up an old archive image of Steve, small and sickly looking. Sam didn't want to know how much suffering it took for a man to become accustomed to it, to become good at taking pain in their stride.

“Easy,” Sam said, hovering close as Steve sat down on the bed. He looked exhausted, but still not like a man who had a building collapse and burn around him. The serum that gave him strength and healing was no small mercy to be thankful for, and boy was Sam thankful for whatever angel had been looking over Steve in that building. Even the serum wouldn't be able to heal the bones of a dead man, Sam was pretty sure.

Sam removed Steve's hoodie carefully, worn across his shoulders with only one arm in a sleeve, throwing it to the end of the bed, before shoving some pillows at the head of the bed and helping Steve to lie down, pulling off Steve's sneakers last and dropping them on the floor. When he looked back at Steve, the injured Avenger looked flushed and glassy eyed, too pink mouth slightly open. He swallowed and licked his bottom lip, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Want some water?” Sam asked. Steve shook his head, blinking slowly. Sam felt his facial muscles pulling towards a scowl and stopped it immediately, sighing. “You look like hell.”

The corners of Steve's mouth lifted in a small smile. It made Sam's chest feel tight, heart attack tight. Crushed under an elephant's ass, tight. “That good, huh?”

Sam smiled, shaking his head. You're an asshole, he wanted to say. Instead, he quietly asked Steve, “You going to tell me what happened back there? One minute I see you, next minute you're...under a pile of rubble.”

Steve turned his head slightly, watching Sam with feverish looking eyes. His voice was rough when he said, “I saw Bucky.”

Sam straightened up. “What?”

Steve's expression was neutral, but his eyes seemed sharp with pain. “I called out to him. He saw me. There was an explosion. I woke up in hospital.”

“You sure it was him?” Sam asked gently.

“It was him,” Steve said. He swallowed, turning his head back to stare up at the ceiling. “At least we know the intel was right. He was headed to Albany.”

Sam picked up Steve's sneakers, putting them aside neatly before hanging up Steve's hoodie. He sat down on the edge of the bed, placing his hand lightly on Steve's thigh, relishing the soft cotton warmth. “We'll get him next time. Or maybe the time after that. It's going to happen. It's just going to take time.”

Steve pointed a tilted smile in Sam's direction, the blue of his eyes muting all the other colours in the room. Sam couldn't help but reach out to stroke the pad of his thumb over Steve's mouth. They silently held each other's gaze for a moment, until the silence became an intrusion and Sam had to break it by leaning forward to place a gentle kiss against Steve's lips. He pulled away with a sigh, standing up.

“Stay. Sleep,” Sam ordered, receiving an incredibly sloppy salute, audaciously delivered using a broken hand. Sam nodded towards the hand. “Quit moving that around. I can hear it rattle.”

Steve laughed quietly, before grimacing in pain. “Don't make me laugh.”

You need to laugh more, Sam wanted to say, but pushed the words away from his mind. Instead, he told Steve to get some sleep, backing out of the bedroom. Minutes later, as he opened the fridge door, his hand stopped midway to a carton of milk. His breath felt like a hard marble stuck in his chest for a moment, slowly growing and threatening to crack. He sat down at the kitchen table, just moments before it felt as if his legs might give, hands limp in his lap, arms so heavy he thought he might never be able to lift them again. Swallowing the tightness in his throat, Sam slumped back and took a few deep breaths, feeling like a man falling into the ocean, having exchanged his wings for a pair of cement shoes,

# *

Sam's momentarily crippling and exhausting panic passed, as did the afternoon, moving slowly into evening. Sam made a few calls, ending with Tony who sounded both annoyed and amused. After some focused tidying, and opening of mail, he made a chunky chicken soup for dinner, something that would warm him and Steve from the inside out, the way his mother's cooking always could. It didn't matter what she'd make, it all tasted like home, like childhood, that time when Sam's family was whole and complete. Even as he thought it, as if Sam's heart and a direct line to his sister's, the phone rang, Sarah on the end of the line.

“Hey,” she said. “Saw your friends on the news. Again. Thought I'd give you a call.”

She sounded part-worried and part-annoyed, which made Sam smile. “You're sounding like a mom.”

“I _am_ a mom,” she said flatly.

“How's Jody?” Sam asked, walking out of the kitchen to wander in the direction of the stairs, keeping an ear out for Steve.

“She misses her uncle,” Sarah said. “And telling anyone who'll listen that Uncle Sam is best friends with Captain America.”

Sam laughed. “Cute.”

“I'll say,” Sarah said. Sam scrunched up his whole face, cheeks warming at the teasing tone. “So how is your...captain doing? Didn't look so good on the news.”

Sam swallowed, forcing a smile onto his face, into his voice. “He's sleeping it off. Should be fine in a few days.”

“And you?”

Sam shrugged. “A few scratches and bruises.”

“That's not what I meant,” Sarah said, her tone cautious, but her probing still going full steam ahead. “Everyone thought he was-”

“You know what?” Sam said quietly. “Not right now. Later. I promise you can ask me as many uncomfortable questions as you like. Just...today's not the right time.”

“Okay,” Sarah said, her voice sounding unsteady. He could hear her take a steadying breath. “Uncle Sam and Captain America. Talk about a power couple.”

Sam laughed, the sound surprisingly wet and breathless in his ears. It's relief, he thought, over not having to talk or think about love and death, over Steve sleeping and breathing. Over not having to cradle another person in his arms and watch the life dim in their eyes.

“Sam. Sam? Are you there?”

Sam swallowed, jolting back to alertness. “Yeah. Sorry, I thought I heard something. What were you saying?”

Sarah was quiet, the question 'are you sure you're okay?' virtually projecting itself out of the phone and into the air in front of Sam. What she said was, “Think you'll be able to make Christmas?”

“I promised I would,” Sam said.

“Feel free to bring red, white and blue with you. It's a big table,” Sarah said, and this time Sam could hear the smile that went with the teasing in her voice. “Big bro's going to be there. I can't wait to see him ask what Captain America's intentions are towards his precious brother.”

“Okay,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “I have to go, something's burning. I haven't decided what yet. Probably the phone.”

Sarah's laugh was a rich and warm sound, so much so it could have turned dough into bread on the spot. It took away the grey edges of Sam's mood, thinning out the dark clouds in his chest. He smiled as he climbed the stairs, slowly walking into his bedroom to check on Steve who was asleep, but not looking entirely rested. His injured hand was cradled close to his chest, the sling gone, and the hand of his left hand was protecting the curve of his ribs. There was a deep scowl etched into his forehead as he slept.

Steve looked so young, his face carrying no trace of the seventy years he had slept under the ice. He took all the teasing in his stride, someone remarking on his age at least once a week, but the truth was, Steve was a young man who had been thrust into old age thanks to war, the responsibility he put on the shoulders of Captain America, and the loss of those he loved. That weariness that Sam sometimes spotted in Steve's eyes wasn't caused by the lifetime of an old man. It was no older than the handful of moments it took to break a heart.

Sam quietly and carefully took up a spot next to Steve, sitting back against the pillows. He couldn't help but reach out and stroke a hand through Steve's hair, watching it spring up as soon as it escaped from under Sam's caress. He kept his touch light, watching the scowl slowly sink under Steve's skin, leaving behind a still and undisturbed surface. Steve seemed to fall deeper into sleep for a while, his breathing calm and regular, so it was a surprise when his eyes cracked open, looking watery and tired, barely widening beyond slits. Sam let his knuckles move to Steve's cheek, gently avoiding his bruises.

“You okay?” Steve asked in a voice that snagged on sleep-filled cracks.

Sam snorted, shaking his head and moving his hand back to Steve's hair, lightly massaging the tips of his fingers against Steve's scalp. “Yeah. I'm okay. You okay?”

Steve replied with a single sluggish nod, blinking slowly, almost as if he was fighting to stay awake. “Feels good.”

“Yeah. It does.” Sam flashed a grin down at Steve, nodding. Steve was blinking up at him, looking thoughtful. His mouth twitched into a small smile, which made Sam ask, “What?”

“Come closer,” Steve said.

Sam jerked his head back a little, giving Steve an incredulous look even if the question had made him smile. “Come closer? Ninety-percent of you is a bruise right now.”

“Your bedside manner is terrible,” Steve said dryly.

“You breaking your bones every five minutes just because you can is kind of worse,” Sam said, realising that it hadn't come out quite as dry and teasing as he had intended. His hand stilled, curling away from Steve's head to rest on the pillow. Sam shook his head, grimacing. “Sorry. That was...really daytime TV of me.”

“It's okay,” Steve said, eyes soft with understanding and worry. It made Sam want to laugh. Steve was the one who had narrowly avoided a body brace and he was worried about Sam. “Though, guys with metal wings shouldn't really throw stones at guys with fast healing abilities.”

Sam grinned, but Steve's smile seemed to tighten. There was a tinge of fear in his eyes that made him seem so different from Captain America. “Hey. Which one of us is laid up right now? The reckless super soldier, or the plan-ahead soldier soldier?”

“Plan-ahead _soldier_ soldier?” Steve questioned, smile and eyebrows both teaming up to tease Sam.

“Shut up, man,” Sam said without any heat.

Sam leaned in for a gentle push of lips against lips, nothing too heated or hungry. At least, it wasn't meant to be, but Steve's finger had caught Sam by the V-neck of his shirt, keeping him close while he coaxed a second kiss out of Sam, teasing with just a touch of tongue. Sam's body tensed for a millisecond, preparing to resist, and then just as easily turned liquid, his arms moving of their own accord to bracket Steve's shoulders, hands braced against the mattress, the rest of his body carefully stretching out over Steve.

They talked in kisses for a while; Steve nipped Sam's bottom lip, Sam responded with a new angle, tasting from a different direction. Steve's mouth latched on tight, teeth meeting flesh with pressure, but without bite. Sam kissed back hard, pushing Steve's head down against the pillows. Steve made a series of sounds: surprise, pleasure, and finally a definite grunt of pain. Sam pulled back breathlessly, arms shaking a little.

He swallowed, shaking his head. “If you had told me you can get it up while looking like you need a splint for your whole body, this would be so over.”

Steve's smile was bright, his eyes like looking into the glare of the sun. Sam couldn't stand it, his gaze shifting to Steve's plaster encased hand. It had shattered, the doctors said, probably as he held his shield above him, miraculously surviving being crushed to death. It wouldn't always work. One day even Steve wouldn't be strong enough. Bullets and broken bones had put him in hospital before, and he had healed. But one day...

“It's okay,” Steve said softly. “Fast healing, remember? Can probably take this thing off tomorrow.”

Sam frowned at Steve who was watching him with a curious look in his eyes. “Sure. Then you can go smash it up all over again.”

“Sam-”

“You... _do_ get that you're not invulnerable, right?” Sam asked. “Sometimes, the way you throw yourself at danger, it's like you're not even thinking.”

Playfulness gone, Steve's face seemed to age a full decade, all sharp angles and planes of seriousness. “Sometimes there's no time to think. You know that better than anyone else.”

“I know about taking risks,” Sam said with a nod, “making on the spot decisions, I get it, I really do. But you...”

“What?” Steve asked, rolling his eyes a little, looking petulant, looking his age.

“What?” Sam mimicked the roll of Steve's eyes. “You know _what._ You get so wrapped up in your sense of duty, you forget you have a team, people who have your back. Just because you're strong enough to get knocked down, doesn't mean you have to keep testing how hard. People love you, man, let them be there for you.”

Steve stared at Sam in silence for a while, before a small smile twitched across his mouth. “ _People_ love me, huh?”

“You're an idiot.” Sam said quietly, shaking his head, pulling himself away from Steve. “I'm going to get you some soup-”

“Hey,” Steve said, the word pressured with pain as he moved to grab Sam's wrist with his good hand, half sitting up. Sam gave Steve a questioning look, feeling Steve's thumb tenderly stroking the inside of Sam's wrist, his grip firm and warm. “Don't go.”

Sam frowned at Steve. “What?”

Steve shook his head and smiled. “Nothing. It's just, we don't really get to do this a lot. It's nice.”

Steve had looked around the bedroom, nodding towards its blue walls. Sam frowned. “Lying around with broken bones and heating pads? I'm feeling like we do that _a lot_ lately. You know, especially since I started hanging out with your friends.”

Steve grinned, brows climbing up towards his at attention hair. “Heating pads?”

“Don't judge me,” Sam said, unable to pull off looking offended while grinning. He gently pushed Steve back down, propping himself up on an elbow. “Some of us don't have super healing powers.”

“It's not really a power-”

“Shut up,” Sam said, pressing a smiling kiss against Steve's pleased mouth. Steve's hand floated up to stroke down Sam's arm, and the kiss he offered up was slow and sweet, his hand moving to Sam's chin, fingers sliding down his throat. Sam leaned in closer, his next kiss greedier and more heated, making Steve gasp into his mouth as he surged up against him. Sam grinned, against Steve's mouth, until he heard the definite grunt of pain, pulling away quickly.

“What?” Sam asked with a smile. “Already? No super stamina?”

Steve grinned, shaking his head. “Funny.”

# *

Trauma, Sam had told a man once, wasn't something you could erase from your mind and pretend never happened, but it was something that you could learn to live with. It wasn't fair that anyone should have to keep something inside them that would always hurt, but it _could_ be held, and it could be soothed, its rough edges filed down so they didn't snag on the delicate walls of the heart. You didn't have to crumble every time you felt its touch. There was a time Sam couldn't even say Riley's name out loud, couldn't bear to think of his broken body lying still and stiff in a casket. Now? Now it was okay to remember that Riley had existed once, had lived and breathed, had made Sam laugh so hard he would have tears in his eyes. It was okay to remember the happiness, even if it was laced with pain.

The only problem was, you couldn't reason with the sleeping mind, which twisted all kinds of things together to create brand new horrors. In his dream, Riley seemed to be falling from the greatest height. Sam knew this couldn't be real, this had never happened, but his mind threw at him the question, what if _this_ is real? What if Riley never died? Sam chased him, body gripped with panic, his hand reaching out the whole time. He called out Riley's name, trying to grab him, the distance always constant between them, never closing. _Please_ , Sam thought, his stomach churning, throat tight, tears pricking his eyes, _God, just please._ Riley looked up, but he wore Steve's face. Their fingers touched and Steve fell away until he was out of reach.

Sam awoke with a gasp, shaking as he sat up. He took a few deep breaths to rein in the terror, to remember how his lungs worked. When reality slipped back into place, he looked at the clock on the bedside table, its glowing digits telling him it was almost two in the morning. He and Steve had fallen asleep, wasting the evening in lazy kisses, too tired and beat up for anything else. Sam turned to the still form next to him. Steve was fast asleep, looking completely knocked out, finally letting the serum in his blood do its work properly. Asleep and alive. Even so, Sam couldn't resist leaning over him slightly, hearing the quiet sound of breathing, feeling the rise and fall of Steve's body.

Sam slipped out of the bedroom quietly, and made his way down to the living room, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His stomach was growling and even though he seemed to have slept, his body was still crying out for rest. Food could wait until breakfast, he thought, half-way into the kitchen, making a beeline for the fridge and something cold to drink. He reached for the fridge door, but then stopped. Something didn't seem quite right. The very air down here seemed heavy and strange. Sam slowly opened the fridge door with one hand, sliding open a drawer with the other, slowly removing his handgun. He blinked ahead at the contents of the fridge, listening hard for tell tale signs of an intruder.

Shutting the door, Sam slowly made his way from the kitchen, scanning the living room, the lights still off, his eyes moving over all the recognisable dark shadows in his home, handgun held tight in one hand. He took a step forward, feeling a cool breeze that shouldn't have been there, bringing the gun up swiftly, tightly held in both hands and ready to fire. It was a terrible feeling, knowing that there was a chance someone could die tonight, but then, as feelings went, it had never been a comfortable one, so he prayed he wouldn't have to use a single bullet, and he prayed he might be mistaken. But Sam knew his home, knew the sounds of the night, knew what kind of shadows were cast here in the dark. He knew someone was here.

That someone shifted in the silence. There was a soft and deliberate sound of a footstep behind Sam. He whipped around, and immediately recognised the shape of that silhouetted figure, shoulders squared, stance defensive, and a deadly stillness. His gloved hands were by his side, open and carrying no weapons. Not that it mattered, because this man _was_ a weapon. He took a step forward, into the illuminating beams of moonlight filtering through the blinds of the window. They cut across him like silver blades, showing Sam the tilt of an unhappy mouth, the slate grey of a cool gaze, features hidden inside the shadow of a hood.

“Bucky?” Sam ventured quietly. Bucky's mouth opened, becoming lax, but no words came out. “Since this isn't a Hydra base, I guess there's a specific reason for the visit?”

Bucky's head noticeably tilted in the direction of the stairs. In a flat rusty voice, he told Sam, “Slow night.”

“So, what, you wanted to crack open a few beers and shoot the breeze for a while?” Bucky was silent, sulky eyes barely blinking as they watched Sam. “Shoot some hoops?”

“Next time,” Bucky said in a slow and measured tone, “I might not be around to pull him out of a fireball. Think about that when you decide to blindly follow him into something stupid.”

“You pulled him out...” Sam frowned, but the frown eased almost immediately. Lowering his gun, he shook his head, muttering, “Of course you did.”

“You want to keep him safe,” Bucky said, not a question, that much was clear even without inflection or tone. “Keep him out of my way.”

“Because that's easy, getting him to walk away,” Sam said. “Just like you were able to walk away from him yesterday?”

“ _Convince_ him,” Bucky said, his eyes still trained on Sam, reading him quietly. Sam snorted, shaking his head. “What the hell's so funny?”

“I don't know how much you remember, but there has to be a part of you that knows Steve is one hell of a stubborn ass,” Sam said. “You want him to stop coming after you, you go and tell him yourself. Right up those stairs. Go ahead.”

Sam could see Bucky's jaw working, chewing on words he was withholding before he all but bit out, “The last time we were face to face I almost killed him.”

Sam nodded, looking Bucky straight in the eyes. “ _Almost._ Hydra's perfect assassin, and you only _almost_ killed a guy. How does that even work?”

Bucky's mask dissolved in a quick moment, from hard to lost in a second. His brows furrowed, eyes darkening as he peered into something Sam couldn't see. Perhaps something Bucky couldn't see either.

“Why are you here?” Sam asked softly.

“I have a mission,” Bucky said curtly. “You keep after me, you're both gonna get hurt.”

“Doesn't have to be that way,” Sam said. “Not if you let us help you.”

“You can't,” Bucky said, his mouth clamping shut and twisting downwards. He sounded resigned when he almost whispered, “You can't.”

“You know he's not going to quit, right?” Sam said gently. “He loves you, man.”

Bucky seemed to go still like a machine becoming inert without its power. Sam took a tentative step forward. At the same time Bucky's left hand made the smallest of movements, fingers flexing. Not even a second later, Sam felt a pinprick on his neck.

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” he hissed, his hand flying up to find the finest needle sticking out of his skin.

Before he could lift his other hand to fire the gun, Bucky had moved across the room, slipped behind Sam, taken the gun, and clamped a hard immoveable hand over Sam's mouth. Sam told himself he could have fought back, but his legs were already turning to water, his frantic heart pumping the poison around his body.

“Relax,” Bucky said, his voice low in Sam's ear. “It's not poison. I'm just tired of listening to you.”

“I promise,” Sam said breathlessly, as soon as Bucky's hand came away, “Next time I see you, I am kicking your ass.”

“I'll hold you to that,” Bucky said, dragging Sam across the room and dumping him on the couch.

Sam blinked hard, fighting his eyelids as the fog descended on him, Bucky towering over him and watching him silently. He's not going to hurt Steve, Sam told himself, that's not why he's here. Sam slurred out a few expletives in Bucky's direction, not entirely sure he was actually using his mouth properly. The last thing he saw before the drug dragged him into darkness was the Winter Soldier's mouth twitching at being called a dick.

# *

In his dreams, the Winter Soldier was less of a man and more of a black smudge that seemed to appear out of nowhere, looking like a tear ripped into the fabric of time and space. The first time Sam had seen him, it had been like looking at something unreal, something scraped from the bottom of a nightmare. He was relentless. Even if he did tire, was he aware of his own body's limitations? It hadn't seemed so. The way he had just taken Sam's wing and kicked him away, with such mechanical precision, it had been a frightening reminder, that without those metal bones, Sam was just a man. Sam still fell from the sky in his dreams, away from the Winter Soldier who watched him fall, a dark demonic smear against a bright backdrop.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Sam hissed, shoved into instant wakefulness, his head jerking up off of the couch. He took in a breath that made his chest shudder, before falling back down, muscles relaxing. He quietly muttered under his breath. “Jesus.”

Sam glanced down the length of his body and then at the living room. Night had turned to day and the throw that lived on the back of the couch had been draped across his body. The warm smells of food and coffee were wafting through the air and Sam could hear Steve moving around the kitchen to a backdrop of music quietly playing on the radio. He sat up slowly, rubbing at his neck, moving to plant his feet on the floor, dragging most of the throw with his legs and took a deep breath, before looking in the direction of the kitchen.

Steve looked at home moving around the place like he owned it, and maybe it was just the light of day, but he seemed to be bathed in a sunny glow. Sam narrowed his gaze in suspicion at himself, blinking a few times. Steve continued to be Steve, leaving Sam watching and smiling in an embarrassingly fond manner. A knot in Sam's chest that had been loosening and tightening with every breath yesterday seemed to have finally come completely undone. It didn't hurt to look at Steve so much today.

However, it _did_ hurt to be in his own body. The bruises and aches of the latest mission had finally caught up with Sam, and he felt bone tired this morning, not to mention cranky. He was also currently confused and pissed off as hell about the possible events of last night, questioning whether he had fallen asleep on the couch, dreaming up an ex-Hydra assassin who used to be his boyfriend's best friend, or actually been drugged by an ex-Hydra assassin who used to be his boyfriend's best friend.

“You're up,” Steve said, encased hand still held protectively close to his body, but without its sling. His free hand had a steaming cup of coffee, which Sam took all too quickly. He took a gulp of scalding liquid and burnt his tongue, but it was worth it, making Steve laugh when Sam moaned at the taste. “Okay. You're making me a little jealous.”

Sam looked at the cup. “You and I are going to be so happy together.”

Steve grinned as he sat down next to Sam. The world seemed to slow down and find balance when Steve placed his cup-warm hand on Sam's back, absently rubbing a circle. Sam put his cup on the coffee table in front and leaned into Steve to give him a long indulgent kiss. When they pulled apart, Steve was staring at Sam's mouth, licking his own bottom lip.

“Wow,” he said quietly, giving Sam a serious look. “That really _is_ good coffee.”

“Funny,” Sam said, taking another gulp.

Steve smiled, but the happy shape of his mouth slowly gave way to something tentative and uncertain. His brows furrowed together, the tips holding up Steve's self-made burdens. “I didn't force you out of bed, did I?”

Sam didn't need to prod at the meaning of the question. “Nah. Just couldn't sleep.”

“I'm sorry,” Steve said, the apology almost whisper-quiet, his bright blue gaze muted by too much empathy, too much understanding.

Sam smiled, gently asking him, “What are you so sorry about?”

Steve shrugged. “That you couldn't wake me.”

Sure, like you would wake me, Sam thought. “You looked cute. I wasn't going to mess with that.”

Steve nodded thoughtfully. “Like I said, I'm sorry.”

Sam stared at him. “You're sorry for looking cute.”

“It's not something I can control,” Steve said, deadly serious.

Sam's mouth fell open a moment before the surprised laughter bounced out, hitting Steve square on the nose, a grin from him following. His eyes had gone incredibly soft. It was a look Sam had come to know well, one that both warmed and frightened him sometimes. It made words that rattled around in Sam's heart and mind want to tumble out into the air.

Sam swallowed, asking Steve, “Been up long?”

Steve shook his head. “Couple of hours. Saw you on the couch and decided to treat you to breakfast.”

Sam's gaze flicked to the throw. He looked back at Steve with a knowing smile, to which Steve responded by rolling his eyes. Sam chuckled, shaking his head and rising to his feet. He pulled away the throw and dropped it in Steve's lap, nodding, “I could eat.”

Steve was gazing up at Sam, the multicoloured woollen throw sitting piled on his thighs, his lean and muscular frame held by a couch which had lost enough composure that it seemed to gently cradle its occupant. Steve looked so content, so a part of Sam's home, it felt like someone was reaching into his chest and slowly turning his lungs to warm water.

“What?” Steve asked him, sounding curious but careful.

“I was just thinking,” Sam said quietly, “the second you stop looking like a beat up piñata, I'm going to jump those super-soldier bones like you wouldn't believe it.”

Steve's face was a mask of stillness for a second before he looked away from Sam, a burst of laughter jerking out of his body. He was shaking his head, but the smile, the flush, the bright eyes, it was like a fire burning in the middle of Sam's living room, effortlessly warming those hidden away dark cold spaces that Sam probably didn't even know about.

“I'm serious. You're beautiful, man,” Sam said thoughtfully.

There was a spark of surprise in Steve's eyes. He frowned at Sam and looked away, smiling to himself. Steve stood up, glancing at Sam as he walked towards the kitchen. “We should eat.”

“I hate it when you leave,” Sam said, watching Steve. “But I do enjoy watching you go, Captain.”

“I should have gone with Tony,” Steve called back. “You could have watched that all you like.”

“Are you kidding me?” Sam asked, looking around the living room, his brain turning over the events of the night before, searching for tell-tale signs of Bucky's visit. “You guys can't spend an hour together without arguing.”

“It's not arguing,” Steve said amongst the sounds of plates and knives and forks. “It's just the way we talk.”

“Sure,” Sam said, his scan of the living room providing him with no conclusion. “If that's what you call talking.”

Sam went into the kitchen, using Steve's turned back to his advantage to pull open a drawer, finding his gun exactly where it should have been. Right next to a white slip with a series of numbers that looked like map coordinates. A blue file that had once lived there was now gone. Well, Sam thought, that answered one question. The next question was when to tell Steve. Sam shut the drawer, just as Steve finished laying the table, his gaze on Sam, curious with an edge of concern.

“You okay over there?” Steve asked.

Sam considered how he was to broach the subject of Steve's former best friend breaking into the house, a hot mess of confusion and determination, leaving Sam drugged on the couch. Did Sam really have to ruin this moment, turn cold the all the warmth in his kitchen? Sam looked at the food on the table, enticing smells teasing his nostrils and poking at his empty stomach, Steve standing behind his chair with a patient look on his face.

Sam frowned and said, “How come you never cook me breakfast when your bones _aren't_ broken?”

Steve gave Sam a knowing look, one corner of his mouth lifting in a smile. He nodded and said, “Okay. I guess we're not talking about it right now.”

“We are not,” Sam said with an emphatic nod, taking a seat at the table, with Steve pulling up a chair adjacent rather than opposite.

Sam dug into his breakfast, realising only minutes later that Steve had gone quiet, his cutlery having stilled. Sam looked across at him to find Steve watching him intently, a look of serenity settled across his face. Sam frowned, before lifting a brow in question. Steve shook his head, gaze returning to his food as he reached for his coffee and took a too large gulp.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” Sam asked, touching the corner of his mouth just in case he'd spent the night drooling.

“No, I was just looking,” Steve said with an amused smile, before shrugging and adding, “It's a pretty face. I like looking at it.”

Sam stared at Steve before leaning back in his chair and grinning. “Get the hell out of here. Did you just call me pretty?”

“I did,” Steve said, looking ridiculously determined and defiant. “Is that a problem?”

“No, it is not a problem,” Sam said slowly, his eyes drawn to Steve's soft looking mouth. They both sat in silence for a moment, gazes locked together, until Sam just let a huge smile spread across his face.

Steve cleared his throat, nodding to Sam's plate. “Eat up then.”

Sam watched Steve's mouth tilt up into a smile before he looked away and focused all his attention on his eggs. Sam shook his head, grinning as he poked his own breakfast with his fork, muttering, “Seriously. The _second_ you stop looking like a piñata.”

Sam's loaded fork stopped on the way to his mouth as Steve stood up, his chair scraping backwards. His eyes were glittering with mischief and warmth as he looked down at Sam. He held out his uninjured hand. “I'm not going to break.”

Sam slowly put down his fork, propping his elbow on the table and resting his chin in the cradle of his hand, his other hand reaching out to clasp Steve's. “You do realise there are bits of you broken _right now_ , don't you?”

Steve squeezed Sam's hand, shrugging. “I trust you to work around them.”

“Oh, okay, so now I'm doing all the work too,” Sam said, allowing Steve to pull him up into his space. “No, that's cool.”

They both nodded, exchanging a few short sweet kisses along the way before Steve pulled back and said, “If you're worried you can't keep up-”

“Really?” Sam asked. “What is _with_ that seduction technique?”

Steve smiled. “Worked last time, didn't it?”

“That's not what worked last time. What worked was a t-shirt that looked about two sizes too tight,” Sam said. Steve scowled, though it was rather lazy in its attempt to appear insulted. Sam gave him a wry look. “Dude, it looked like it was painted on.”

Steve nodded. “This is beginning to feel like _I'm_ doing all the work.”

Sam took Steve by his good hand, pulling him towards the stairs. “Join the Avengers they said. You'll have a good time.”

Behind him, Sam could hear a soundless laugh mixed into a quiet exhalation, and it made him grin as he pulled Steve along, all the way up the stairs and into the bedroom. Sam felt warmed all over, even as their clothes slowly came off and they lay together on top of the sheets, limbs slowly and carefully entangling. It could have been that the morning was temperate, or that the heat from the kitchen had travelled through the house, but Sam was sure he felt warmed from head to toe by those waves of contentment rolling off of Steve.

Every small sound of excited breath between kisses added to the heat under Sam's skin, and they both burned slow together, Sam being careful of bruised muscle and bone as he half-draped himself over Steve. Everyone is breakable, Sam thought a little frantically, jerking both himself and Steve off, _but you weren't supposed to be_. Steve had his cast-heavy arm locked around Sam's neck as he panted into Sam's open-mouthed kisses, his body a muscle of wall all around Sam, hot and covered in a sheen of sweat, his uninjured hand palming Sam's ass, fingers curling, stroking and wandering. _God_ and _Sam_ were the only things that Steve whispered between short breaths, whilst Sam latched onto his mouth and groaned _Jesus_ ashe stiffened and jerked, coming so hard he felt as if someone had punched the air out of his lungs.

When Steve came, too many hand-aching moments later, he arched back, baring his throat as he squeezed his eyes shut, mouth hanging open, the last sound out of it something broken, needy, and relieved. Sam breathlessly watched his face the whole time, his cramping hand gratefully gentling to a stop, before slowly moving to Steve's hip from his spent cock. Sam smiled, eyes roaming Steve's limp and loose body, flushed pink and shining. His eyes opened a crack after a minute of quiet and stillness, blue gaze sliding lazily to look at Sam. They quietly stared at each other before Steve tugged on Sam's shoulder, pulling him close for an uncoordinated kiss that only caught the corner of Sam's mouth.

“See?” Steve asked with a rusty voice. “Didn't fall apart.”

I wish I could say the same, Sam didn't say, realising it would come out wrong if he tried. He nodded mutely, settling himself along Steve's side, spreading his hand over Steve's chest, kissing his shoulder, letting his own eyes slide shut. Under his hand, Steve's heart was beating out a solid and steady rhythm, defiant in the face of Sam's fears.

“We should get up and shower,” Steve whispered, the fingers of his good hand playing with the back of Sam's neck.

“You're saying the idea of being stuck to me isn't romantic?” Sam mouthed the skin of Steve's shoulder with a smile. Steve didn't answer. The sound of movement made Sam open his eyes to see Steve had turned his head, and he was watching Sam. “What?”

Steve answered by shaking his head before leaning in close and kissing Sam slow. They kissed each other for a while, slow, soft and indulgent, until the prodding against Sam's thigh made him groan against Steve's mouth. “I am both flattered and insulted right now.”

Steve's mouth opened up into a grin against Sam's. “I broke my _hand.”_

Sam laughed loud against Steve's pleased smile, gladly allowing himself to be pushed onto his back as Steve carefully covered him, pinned him down, held him bodily, even if it was a little more careful than usual, using serum strong bones and muscles to trap the pieces of Sam's fears, slowly grinding them to dust for now.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Soracia's prompt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/soracia):
> 
> _I would really like to see Sam/Steve something kind of h/c, like maybe after a fight Steve's actually bruised/dislocated/cracked something enough that even he isn't recovering right away, and doesn't want to ask for it but maybe needs help getting out of his costume and/or taping up ribs or something? idk, I'm flexible, anything h/c or like, caring for each other/warm and quiet togetherness is good, and established relationship is fine or getting together is good too, I like when seeing someone hurt/needing help makes them realise their feelings_
> 
> Dear [Soracia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/soracia), hope you enjoy even though this is way past your birthday and seemed to wriggle away from the original prompt slightly ;)
> 
> Title from the song by the _Raconteurs_.
> 
> [Say hi on Tumblr](http://dvswraatins.tumblr.com/post/111987694289/store-bought-bones-sam-steve-8663-words).


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